


A Radically Creative Act

by naasad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Poor Joly, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 15:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16537349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naasad/pseuds/naasad
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire get into yet another fight about sobriety. This one ends a little different.





	A Radically Creative Act

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a Meredith Bell quote - "Getting sober is a radically creative act."

“Ah! Fair Apollo has seen fit to come down from Mount Olympus and grace us with his presence!” Grantaire raised a glass, cheeks flushed with alcohol.

Enjolras very nearly turned and walked out the door. “What is he doing here?”

Combeferre grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him back to the rest of the group. “My guess is he was invited. He’s Joly’s best friend, and I don’t need to remind you that it’s his birthday tonight, do I?”

Enjolras huffed. “No.”

“Good.” Combeferre shooed him over to Grantaire’s table. “Let’s go greet our hosts.”

“Hello,” Enjolras said, waving at Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta from a reasonable distance. “Happy Birthday, Joly.”

Joly beamed. “Thanks, Jojo! The bar’s set up over there,” he gestured somewhere behind him, “help yourself.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “No thank you.”

Grantaire snorted and leaned over to whisper loudly “You forgot, my dearest friend. He is much too good for us.” He leaned back, cackling.

Joly winced.

“Go on, Apollo!” Grantaire cheered. “Have a drink on me! Dare to dine with us lowly mortals!”

Chetta reached over and clamped a hand on his wrist. “If I’d known you’d be like this today, I’d have confined you to your room,” she joked, in a tone that wasn’t joking at all.

Grantaire blinked in shock, then nodded, retreating off to a corner to nurse his cocktail in peace and relative quiet.

“Sorry,” Enjolras muttered.

“Not your fault,” Joly said cheerfully. “Though, you could try to be less pointed about his drinking. It’s really none of your business.”

Enjolras raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Joly sighed. “I hope you enjoy the party.”

Bossuet tightened his arms around his boyfriend.

The party went on and on, until only Les Amis were left.

“Back to our place for party games?” Bossuet asked.

Courfeyrac whooped.

When they arrived at the spacious apartment, Courfeyrac immediately settled on the floor, bottle of birthday cake vodka cradled between his knees. “Okay,” he said, “Combeferre, truth or dare?”

Combeferre grinned wryly. “Dare.”

“Take your shirt off.”

Much to the appreciation of his audience, Combeferre pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing every single one of his tattoos. Grantaire sat next to him and poked at a phoenix on his pec. “Is that one new? You didn’t get it from me.”

Combeferre shook his head, smiling. “Truth or dare, Grantaire?”

Grantaire pretended to hum thoughtfully. “Truth.”

“When you and Fey disappeared for the weekend, where did you go?”

Courfeyrac’s eyes went wide and he shook his head.

Grantaire laughed loudly, head thrown back and boisterous before it tapered into breathy giggles. “We went clubbing with our passports and woke up half-naked in a London hotel.” He snorted and straightened up his posture. “Then we were already there, so we just went sight-seeing. Shhhhhh, don’t tell Combeferre.”

Ferre turned to glare at Fey. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t.”

Bossuet elbowed Grantaire in the ribs. “Your turn, gros.”

Grantaire grinned wickedly and stared right at Enjolras. “Apollo, truth? Or dare?”

“Oh, shit,” Courfeyrac muttered, hiding behind his bottle.

“Dare,” Enjolras spat.

Grantaire held out his half-drunk margarita. “Have some. On me.”

“No,” Enjolras said, leaving no room for discussion.

Everyone glanced up at that. Enjolras never backed down from a dare - never.

Grantaire spluttered.

“You… can’t do that,” Courfeyrac finally said. “Rules.”

“No,” Enjolras repeated.

Grantaire cackled. “See? What did I say? Too good for us.”

“R,” Musichetta said warningly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Enjolras reached into his pocket and flung something shiny and bronze straight at Grantaire, hitting him in the chin. “I’m not a fucking god.”

Grantaire picked up the piece of metal, eyes nearly going crossed as he tried to read it. “What is it?”

“It’s my five year sobriety coin,” Enjolras spat.

Everyone looked up at that, even Combeferre was surprised.

“Jojo?” Courfeyrac asked.

Enjolras shook his head. “My mother saw absolutely nothing wrong with feeding an infant ‘just a little brandy’ to help him sleep, and my father thought letting a nine year old drink his fill at political parties, social galas, and charity balls was normal.” He stood and snatched the coin away from Grantaire. “This? I worked hard for this. Two years of false starts, staying sober for maybe a month at most. Just because you see fit to continue throwing your life away doesn’t mean you get to drag me back down with you.”

Everyone gaped. 

Enjolras huffed and ran out the front door.

“I’ll…,” Combeferre reached for his shirt. “I’ll go after him. That last bit was uncalled for.”

Grantaire stared at his fingers.

Jehan shuffled over to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

Grantaire shrugged him off and headed for the door.

“R,” Joly called, but he was ignored.

Combeferre and Enjolras stood leaning against the hallway from each other, talking quietly. Enjolras’ hands shook as he tried to light a cigarette, and eventually, Combeferre took it away from him. “It’s okay,” he murmured, rubbing his shoulders.

Grantaire reached out and knocked on the wall, getting their attention. “I’m sorry,” he said, breath misting in the cold night air. “I should’ve left it alone.”

Combeferre exchanged a look with Enjolras and went back inside.

Enjolras sighed and peeled himself off the wall. “I’m sorry, too,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“You were right, though.” Grantaire leaned back against the wall. “I have been throwing my life away. I mean, it’s trash, though, what else am I gonna do with it?”

Enjolras’ fingers twitched and he took a menacing step forward. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

Grantaire laughed. “Not everything needs a response, Apollo. You could just agree.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Grantaire’s face fell. “Alright, sorry.”

Enjolras sighed and paced, arms flying. “You just - you confuse me. You have friends that care about you, and you have many real, marketable talents, but you cling to this completely false image of yourself. That - that you’re ugly, useless, undesirable - none of that is true!”

“Isn’t it?” Grantaire asked, swallowing thickly. “Perception determines reality.”

“Exactly!” Enjolras crowed. “If you would just rework your perception of yourself into something more accurate, you could become the great man we all know you are capable of being! But you don’t, and I just - I never -” He stormed up to Grantaire, right in his face, and held up his hands as if to grab him by the neck. “I never know whether I want to kiss you or strangle you.”

“Kiss me,” Grantaire blurted.

Enjolras put a hand on his face, stroking his cheekbone. He chewed his lip, then shook his head. “You’ve been drinking. I don’t kiss people who’ve been drinking.”

“Is that an ultimatum?”

“No.”  Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “It’s just a principle. Part of total abstinence for myself, not to mention all the consent issues….”

“Okay,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Okay what?”

“One kiss for every day I stay sober?”

Enjolras gaped, then shook his head. “Okay,” he agreed, mouth dry. He leaned up and pressed a shaky kiss to Grantaire’s brow.

“What was that?”

Enjolras sighed and licked his lip. “Extra incentive,” he finally said. “Because I wanted to.”

Grantaire laughed. “No, that’s not how you do incentive right.” He reached up and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Enjolras’ mouth. “You should know,” he whispered. “If we’re really doing this, you should know I’m in love with you.” He closed his eyes, bracing himself for rejection.

A cold hand caressed his jaw. “Me, too. Do you really think I would be so concerned otherwise?”

“Well.” Grantaire cracked open one eye. “This is you we're talking about.”

Enjolras smiled and shook his head, resting their foreheads together. “You silly, silly man.”

“I bet they think we've killed eachother,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras hummed thoughtfully and pressed a bruising kiss to his neck. When he was done, he straightened, smug as a cat, and held out his hand. “Come on.”

Grantaire took it and followed.


End file.
